


Divided at Table

by Grenegome



Series: The Ways Lie Straight [3]
Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: M/M, Politics, Threesome - M/M/M, Winter Bike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2011-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grenegome/pseuds/Grenegome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcone sulks, Donar invites Harry to dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divided at Table

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Dresden Files Kink Meme.

A couple of weeks after the Dissolution party, I stopped by Chicago, intending to catch up with my friends. I planned on a few beers at Mac’s, a game or two with the Alphas, maybe a round in the dojo with Murph. I wasn’t planning on Sigrun Gard waiting right outside the most commonly used Way into Chicago.

“Tell your boss he can go jump in the lake,” I said, moving past her to go about my business.

Gard stepped in front of me, barring my exit from the alley. “I had the impression you thought well of Mr. Vadderung,” she said.

Oops. “...You aren’t here for Marcone.”

“No. My lord is in town; he wants to take you for dinner.”

Dinner? I wondered if there was actual food on the menu, or if this was a meal of sex and power and magic. Either sounded good to me. Hell, maybe we could be all mainstream about it and do both; dinner and a show. “When?”

“Now.”

Right. I didn’t question how or why Vadderung knew where I’d be; knowledge was Monoc’s stock in trade, after all. Instead I nodded and followed Gard back to her car.

 

It wasn’t difficult to spot Vadderung when I walked into the restaurant; there aren’t many giant, one eyed rogues dining out in Downtown Chicago, but the man sitting with him took me by surprise.

Marcone.

I didn’t hesitate, just strode through the restaurant like I had every right to be there, never mind my staff and casual clothes. The table was set for three, and I dropped into the third seat with a bright smile.

“Hey, Donar! Maeve says thanks for the mead. We had a good time.”

Vadderung smiled down at me. “Really?” he said. “I heard you two had something of a falling out.”

From the way Marcone straightened in his seat, it was obvious which ‘two’ Vadderung was referring to. Maeve and I had periodic spats, but we were buddies at the moment.

“Yeah, well. I sort of punched him in the mouth,” I acknowledged. “But he _was_ asking for it.” Marcone was under Vadderung’s protection to some extent, but I’d played by the rules; the old god wouldn’t be making a personal rebuke for a schoolyard scuffle.

“You were hardly _provoked_ ,” Marcone said, something ugly snarling underneath his calm words. I could almost taste it lingering in the air with the spice of the wine.

“Come now Marcone, we aren’t here to argue.” Vadderung poured out a generous measure of red wine for me, and I fought the urge to laugh; it wasn’t often I got to see Marcone be out-civilled by someone. I didn’t think it was one of Vadderung’s usual tactics either.

“Then why _are_ we here?” Marcone said. “Certainly not to renegotiate. We’re under contract for another six months, and our business doesn’t require Dresden’s presence.”

I sniffed, and did my best to look affronted.

“Well, we don’t have to be _here_ Baron, if you object. We could very easily be somewhere else.” Vadderung clicked his fingers, and we were.

I looked around in puzzlement, “A log cabin?” A bit more rustic than I’d been expecting. Vadderung barked a laugh, reaching forward to cuff my ear lightly.

“A mead hall,” he said. “Mine. I don’t get much use for it anymore, but you two... I had a whim to see you here.” The decor really didn’t fit with the posh restaurant furniture Vadderung had brought with us, and I could see why the place didn’t get much use; a brilliant combination of wooden _everything_ alongside a roaring fire had me sitting on my hands. I have a past history with unexpectedly flammable buildings. Still, it felt good. Welcoming, like the hall wanted me to sink back in my chair and knock back my wine and talk too loud and laugh too hard.

“This is very _homely_ ,” Marcone said, leaning forward in his own chair, “but I must insist we return to Chicago. My people will be worried.”

‘People’ probably translating to ‘Hendricks’, and ‘worried’ to ‘laconically freaking out’.

Vadderung shrugged off the demand. “Calm yourself, Baron. I’m sworn to protect your interests, Sigrun will let your man know you are safe.”

“Perhaps we have different definitions of _safe_. Mine doesn’t include abduction, and this is a far cry from _protecting my interests_.”

I kind of wished I had some popcorn to go with my fancy wine, because an argument between the two of them promised to be an interesting show. Maybe if I asked Vadderung...

“Chicago is your chief interest,” the old god said. “Chicago is... important. In the same way the two of you are.”

“Chess pieces,” Marcone replied. “All your maneuvering to date has suited my interests, I have no objection to it.”

Vadderung tilted his head back, taking half a glass of wine in one easy swallow. “Mmm, not entirely true. My last move was a poor one.”

There was a moment’s pause in which Marcone very carefully didn’t react. He was watching Vadderung instead, face motionless. The petty urge to poke him in the ribs swept over me, to pick up the fight where we’d left off, never mind what Vadderung had to say. It felt weird, anyway, actually having to _share_ the scumbag’s obsessive attentions...

oh.

Marcone might have been dealing with some weirdness of his own, during the Dissolution party. I chose my next words thoughtfully. “Your last move being... me? I wouldn’t call _that_ planned.”

“It wasn’t. You’re a terrible distraction, boy-- ”

“I try.”

“ --and a god of my years should have better control, but,” and then he grinned, “I don’t. I likely never will. And now I have set things off kilter.”

“So you want to rekilt them?”

“This is no time for bad blood between the two of you, or between you and I, Marcone. So we are here to right things.”

I raised my hand, and Vadderung smiled at me tolerantly.

“Are we righting them with sex? Because Marcone thinks I’m a dirty slut. I don’t think he’ll go for it.”

Vadderung didn’t look impressed. But he didn’t look _angry_ either, his expression put me more in mind of Eb’s Disappointed Face, and I was really glad it wasn’t pointed at me. Marcone held his gaze, jaw set, obvious tension in the line of his shoulders. After a moment of impasse, Vadderung shook his head and sighed. “Really, Marcone? If that’s your best attempt at love-talk, no wonder you haven’t had a man in your bed for years.”

A _man_. In his _bed_. I fixed my attention on Marcone, a slightly nasty smile on my face, waiting to see if he’d freak out at Vadderung, or if he reserved that kind of pettiness for me. There were splotches of deep color high on Marcone’s cheek bones, and I wondered if that heat came from anger. “I have no interest in a man in my bed-- ”

“Oh, hush.” Vadderung said. “Those that would think less of you for it are lesser men than yourself. Their opinion is nothing to you.”

“Oh, indeed? I’ll just take the moral high-ground, shall I? I’m sure it’ll be a great strategic advantage when my opponents come gunning for a perceived weakness.”

“Of course not. You’ll strike them down dead, if you have any care for your power.” Vadderung said it like it was nothing, like it was ridiculous that Marcone fought for a whole host of things, but not the right to enjoy himself.

“He cares a bit too much, don’t you, Johnny boy?” I asked. It was pretty clear Vadderung was wasting his time; he might as well turf John out and sprawl in front of the fire with me. “He’s not going to go for it. Pity.”

“You,” Marcone growled, attention suddenly back where it belonged, “are just being contrary. You have no interest in-- ”

“Seeing you on your knees sucking my cock? I think maybe I do, Marcone.” It wasn’t really intended as an insult, but I admit I picked my words to see if he’d take it as one; I liked dropping to my knees and sucking cock with the right person at the right time, and I wanted to know whether Mr. Mafia Don had that all tangled up with stupid ideas about power and submission and authority. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, but he didn’t react angrily, instead the heat in his cheeks spread, and his eyes went a little darker.

Vadderung laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t be adverse to seeing that either. What say you, Marcone?”

“I say you should have finished buying me lunch before you asked me that goddamn question,” he said. Oh, cursing! Weren’t we privileged? I liked the sudden roughness in Marcone’s voice, and I raised my glass to it, smiling at Vadderung.

“I’ll feed you both, and gladly,” he said, raising a glass to me in return.

 

We got meat. Lots of meat, clearly cooked over an open fire, and Vadderung really was working the whole old school angle here. I enjoyed it, the whole thing felt entertainingly manly; picking meat from the bone, sucking hot grease from my fingers, making a mess and enjoying myself. Marcone actually abandoned his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves before he tucked in, clearly not dumb enough to reject Vadderung’s hospitality. I caught his eye just as I started sucking clean the pad of my thumb. Marcone didn’t look like he _wanted_ to be looking, he looked like his gaze was stuck, and I turned back to Vadderung to complain that maybe we’d broken him.

Vadderung apparently endorsed the Harry Dresden school of table manners, because I caught him just as he was about to lick his fingers clean of his own meal. I didn’t exactly think my next move through, but it was one of my better impulses; I reached out and fastened my hand around Vadderung’s wrist. I could feel sinew and strength, and I smiled my politest smile at him. “May I?” His answering smile was wolfish. I stood, moved alongside his chair so that I didn’t have to lean across the table. Still grinning, I slid one of his fingers into my mouth and sucked intently, giving each digit my full attention.

“Easy,” Vadderung rumbled, and it took a moment to realize he didn’t mean me. I looked up, his thumb still between my lips, to see fire in Marcone’s eyes. Right.

“Christ, you have issues Marcone,” I told him. I turned back to Vadderung. “I don’t think this is a good idea. We’re going to give him a heart attack.”

“Hmm,” Vadderung said, and then hooked a finger through my belt loop, pushing his chair back and pulling me to stand between his thighs. They were like fucking tree trunks, and I remembered sliding home between them, sparking our powers against one another. “Kill or cure?” Vadderung murmured to me. “It’s not fitting for a lord to play the miser. He must learn to share.”

I twisted to snatch a glance over my shoulder. Marcone had one of the thick linen napkins twisted in his left fist. His right looked dangerously tight on the stem of his empty wineglass. I tried to decide if it would be wrong of me to climb into Vadderung’s lap for the sole purpose of finding out if he’d actually break it. Probably wrong, yes. But also awesome.

“Lemme up,” I said, and started scrambling into Vadderung’s lap. He barked a laugh and assisted me, leaving me sprawled kind of sideways across his thighs, shoulder against his chest, legs hooked over one of the arms of the chair. I didn’t feel like I was in a particularly attractive position, more childish than anything, but Vadderung seemed quite taken with it. He ran rough fingers through my hair and then caught it up, using his grip to tilt my head back and kiss me. I made a noise of encouragement, opening my mouth to him expectantly and meeting his tongue. I remembered the size of his cock, and wondered how long it would take him to work me open enough to take it, wondered if he was in the kind of mood to spread my legs and fuck me, because I’d fuck him again and gladly, but it might be kind of nice to get laid out and taken.

There was a bang, and a liquid noise, and a curse. Marcone had just overturned the bottle of wine trying to refill his glass, and more than a little of it had poured off the edge of the table into his lap. He was dabbing at his crotch with the creased napkin, refusing to look up. I grinned at him all the same. Vadderung squeezed my shoulder with one broad hand and then eased me off his lap. Yeah, I could see an opportunity when it slapped me in the face too.

I stalked around the table. “Here, let me help with that,” I said, and then dragged his chair back from the table, something I might have struggled with pre-Knighthood as Marcone’s muscle made him no lightweight. But I moved him with ease and Marcone tensed up and didn’t calm down even when I dropped to my knees. The wine mingled with the scent of his arousal and I nearly bowed my head straight down to lick. I caught myself just at the last moment, because his smell was _mortal_ ; born of hot red blood and salted sweat and Chicago’s bitter air. I was playing with a mortal man, and maybe I was a little too used to Winter’s games, Winter’s rules. We played hard in the unseelie court, kindling heat in the heart of ice, but here, with Marcone, there were other customs. I sat back on my heels.

“Hey, John? You want out?”

Marcone looked from me, to Vadderung, and back to me again, and then grit his teeth. “No,” he said. “I’m not out. I’ve got to cash in this year’s allocation of Dresden-related stupidity tokens.” He gave the words up grudgingly, but at the same time he reached out to me, running a hand through my hair, the same way Vadderung had, but gently. He didn’t take hold of me either, just pet me slowly, like he was enjoying the feel. I might have nuzzled into it a little.

Vadderung rumbled his amusement and I flashed him a grin before dropping my head, tonguing the rich wine from Marcone’s sodden slacks and prompting him to take a deep, shuddering breath. The material was rough against my tongue, but I’ve had stranger things in my mouth so I just kept lapping, feeling Marcone getting harder beneath me. It was a while before I chased all trace of wine out of his lap, long enough for his breath to be hitching, his hands stuttering through my hair, and I smiled to feel the flexing of the muscles in his thighs as he stopped himself rutting up against my mouth.

“All gone,” I said, sitting back on my heels. Marcone stared down at me helplessly, and I smiled up at him. “Come on. Let’s thank our host.” I stood, a hand on Marcone’s knee for leverage until I found my feet, and then I held my hand out to him instead. I saw him trying to think it through, slipping back into his usual cool calculation, and I broke through it all with an easy smile. “It’ll be fun, promise.”

Marcone let me take his hand and pull him to his feet. Vadderung was watching us with interest, slouched low in his seat. The table had vanished while I’d had my head down; useful, having a god as a bed partner. Marcone let me lead him until we were standing before Vadderung’s chair and then I reeled him in, ducking down for a kiss. I could feel the unforgiving tension in his body pressed against me, and slipped an arm around his waist, kissing down the side of his neck to murmur, “Hey, relax.”

“Not happening,” he said, fisting a hand in my t-shirt. But he didn’t use his grip to push me away.

“Sure it is. We’ll get there.” I broke Marcone’s grip gently, then turned him so his back was pressed to my chest and we both faced Vadderung. He tilted his head, bright blue eye taking us in warmly.

“You have a game plan, Knight?”

“Yeah. Changed my mind about the show. I’d like to see him sucking _you_.” I hadn't thought Marcone could get any tenser. He did. “But, uh, apparently he’s a little gunshy. Maybe not.”

“No,” Marcone said, “I can-- ”

“You can shut up,” I said easily. “You have nothing to prove here.”

“There is always-- ”

“Not always,” Vadderung contradicted, “not with me. I know everything about you worth the knowing already.”

Marcone recoiled at that, pressing back against me. He had secrets worth keeping, but the one that mattered to him most was a bit of a mood killer. So I brushed my mouth against his ear, and started murmuring to him. “You’d look good on your knees. I can hold you when he fucks your mouth. Slip my hand inside your pants and jack you off nice and slow and when you bring him off, lay you down and ride you. Yeah?”

Marcone’s hand found mine where it was pressed flat against the muscle of his stomach, and then squeezed around my wrist. “Yes,” he said, and I knew from Vadderung’s expression that Marcone was staring him down, grabbing at the familiar trappings of his mortal power in instinctive bravado, but Vadderung didn’t bristle, instead he just smiled and looked oddly proud.

And then Marcone knelt. He dropped to his knees with deliberate speed, and I looked down in surprise as he slithered away from me, shouldering his way between Odin’s spread thighs to kneel in front of his chair, clever hands on the god’s belt buckle. Marcone was fast, now he’d decided on a course of action, determined. Grinning, I dropped down behind him, positioning myself with only a little scuffling before dropping one knee to the floor between Marcone’s, the other to the right of him, slipping a hand across the front of his damp trousers to stroke across the shape of his arousal. Big as mortals went, I could tell, but we were about to see bigger. Marcone unzipped Vadderung’s fly, eased him out, and then swore.

“He’s a mouthful,” I admitted, and then, because I couldn’t help myself, “but he tastes divine.”  
Vadderung let out one of his sudden barks of laughter, and Marcone tried to elbow me in the ribs. I squeezed his cock lightly and he stopped. “Just take what you can,” I said.

“A little late to caution me to stick to my limits,” Marcone said, in the strained tones of a man who was fighting off laughter that had nothing to do with amusement. But then, quick and decisive, he angled Vadderung’s cock to his liking and leaned forward, easing it into his mouth.

I slipped sideways, pushing Vadderung’s thighs even wider in an attempt to get a better view.

Marcone was careful, using his hands to control how much he took in, and that was Marcone all the way through, meeting the situation on his own terms. I looked up and smiled a question at Vadderung. He was being very civil about the whole thing, power still reined in, apparently content to let Marcone explore. I remembered the wildness of our fucking, power wrapped in power, and wondered what he was getting from this, a mortal man and his tentative sucking. But Vadderung just winked his blue eye at me in a conspiratorial fashion. Hey, _I_ was enjoying the view, staring at Marcone’s hollowed out cheeks, the delicate lashes of his closed eyes. If Vadderung was having fun I was more than happy enough to play along.

I slipped back behind Marcone, pressed myself tight against his back, and then worked on slipping my hand under his belt, down into his pants. It took a bit of wiggling, and once I worked my way inside I didn’t have room to manoeuvre, wrist pinned close to his stomach by the strip of leather. Marcone lost the bobbing rhythm he’d fallen into for just a moment before resuming it, but one of his hands fell away from Vadderung’s cock, and started scrabbling at his own belt. I grinned against his hair and resisted the urge to murmur some meaningless encouragements to him. If I slipped with a _good boy_ , we’d probably have him tensed back up in no time, fretting about his reputation.

Marcone got the belt undone and I got my hand around him, stroking. I was slow, slower than he wanted, touching him only lightly. He made an urgent noise around Vadderung’s cock, and then pulled off. “Harry,” he said, voice lower than I’d ever heard it. Vadderung tutted.

“Boy, stop toying with him. Get his clothes off, and he can be seen to properly.”

“Yes _sir_ ,” I sassed with a smile, and then took hold of the collar of Marcone’s shirt. “ _Scindo_ ,” I said sweetly. The shirt fell in tatters to the floor, and Marcone swore.

“Don’t fuss, I’ll fix it for you later,” Vadderung promised.

“I’m not fuss-- ah!” I _scindo_ ’d John’s trousers and briefs without warning. He didn’t sound impressed. “I’m not going to be the only one stripped bare while you two-- ”

“Undress?” I asked, t-shirt already up around my head.

“ _He_ isn’t,” Marcone muttered rebelliously, but he broke off when I plastered myself against his back, skin against skin.

“Don’t fuss,” I repeated, dropping a kiss on his shoulder and then presenting him with my open hand, “lick.”

He did, broad swipe across my palm and fingers and then I got a proper grip on him, tight around his cock. As soon as I moved my fist Marcone jerked into it and his head fell back against my shoulder. A tightly held breath burst straight out of him, and a lot of his tension went with it.

“Better,” Vadderung said, and reached out to trace the line of Marcone’s mouth. Marcone bit him. Vadderung lent back and roared out his laughter. “Very well then. Trade off, knight.”

I tapped Marcone’s shoulder, encouraging him to move. He didn’t. “You said-- ”

“Ride you, yes, I remember. Actually, why don’t you get on that?” I gave Vadderung my best puppy dog eyes, “Lube?” Vadderung reached forward and pretended to pluck something from behind my ear. When he opened his hand, the little ceramic pot from our last rendezvous was nestled in his palm. “Awesome. Marcone, don’t eat any.”

I shifted forward on my knees and swallowed Vadderung down, still hot and slick from Marcone’s mouth. I worked at making it good, a little more finesse than last time, but still wet and messy. I could _feel_ Vadderung’s pleasure rumbling through him, and it made me smile.

I quit smiling when I realised my ass was remaining sadly unmolested and pulled off, looking behind me in puzzlement. Marcone still hadn’t opened the pot. “Hey, going to get with the program? You do _know_ how this works, right?”

He glared at me and fumbled the lid off. “I didn’t take you for a multi-tasker, Dresden.”

“I’ve multi-tasked half of Winter-- ” Marcone’s mouth tightened at that, and I growled, “Still? Will you quit mourning my lost innocence, Marcone? I’m not marrying you, so it doesn’t _matter_ if I can’t wear white.”

He slicked his fingers, glaring at me. “Waste of a dress. You’d spill something on it as soon as it touched you. Crumple it up. Tear the veil.”

“And yet he looks rather fetching mussed... ” Vadderung proffered, thoughtfully. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for the evening to take a turn toward dressing up, so I dived back onto his cock. Distraction is the better part of valor. Or something.

This time I felt the slick trail of fingers exploring my ass, and I hummed my contentment. Finally. I wiggled encouragingly, because Marcone was being uncharacteristically shy about it, and then one blunt finger slid inside of me. I moaned a little bit, because good work should be rewarded.

Vadderung’s hand was in my hair all of a sudden, pushing into me a little more insistently. “He’ll beg for you, Baron, if you get it right,” Vadderung promised him. “Sweetly too.”

That time, Marcone bit _me_ , teeth sinking into my shoulder. Ow. But the good kind of ow. In retaliation, I scraped Vadderung with my teeth, just a little. He caught his breath, clearly not expecting it, and I grinned up at him through my lashes. I know I can’t play coy, but sometimes it’s fun to try.

“Drink me down then, villain,” Vadderung said with obvious affection. I sucked _hard_ then, lips sealed tightly around him, flexing my tongue against the underside of his cock and he came violently, flooding my mouth. I did my best to swallow but there was a lot of him, and a little got away from me. Vadderung slumped back with a contented groan and watched me chase his essence with my tongue. Cleanliness when next to godliness, and all that.

Marcone’s fingers stilled inside me. I wasn’t sure I could cope with any more drama. Vadderung looked over my shoulder, smiled, and then said in a deep lazy murmur, “Give him what he needs, Knight. Bring him a little joy.”

I didn’t need telling twice. Marcone had slipped out of me before I’d even turned, and I knocked him back, down onto the bare floor. I had a moment’s irritation at my jeans caught around my knees before _hey presto_ there weren’t there, courtesy of our divine choreographer. Sliding down onto Marcone was the simplest thing in the world and _Stars_ , the way he looked. Like he couldn't quite understand what was happening, but he might die if it stopped.

“Good boy,” I said, when I’d taken my seat, when I’d worked him as far into me as he could possibly get. He was _well_ past fretting now. I rocked up and down a little, ever so slightly, moving to find the right angle.

“There,” Vadderung said, and whether he’d _made_ himself right or he was just really fucking perceptive I don’t know, but pleasure sparked up inside me and all of a sudden I wanted this more than anything, hungry to be filled, hungry to fuck myself into oblivion with Marcone between my thighs.

“Nng,” I said, and Marcone’s fingers dug into my thighs desperately. I took a breath, got myself together, and found my rhythm. Drawing slowly up and then thrusting back down onto him, catching my breath every time, like it was some kind of surprise. And then Marcone got it together too, wrapped a hand tight around me, and gave me what I needed.

“A fine pair,” Vadderung said, something like pride in his voice. Like he was showing us off, but I don’t know who to. Himself. One another.

“Ma-- Marcone,” I said, stuttering when I slammed myself down just _right_. “Hard. Wanna feel it.” He obliged, slamming up into me when I came down on him and I whined a little, maybe. I couldn’t work out what else would make Vadderung laugh the way he did. “That, yeah, more of that. Can take it, take you. Come on.”

He did. He knocked us over, slamming me onto my back at the same time he slammed into me, snarling just a little. “Take it, take everything. Fuck you into next _week_ , Dresden.”

“Go on then,” I said, and arched up to meet him. I’d been fucked harder, by beings whose strength Marcone could never hope to match, but never with so much intent, never with such single minded intensity behind each thrust. Marcone scrabbled for something beside my head, and then wrapped his hand around my cock again, gloriously slick. The pot, yeah.

I knew what Marcone wanted, wanted me to come apart around him as he thrust into me, holding out till the last with his grim death grip on his self control. I could do that, I could humor him, because I felt it rising in me, a fierce pleasure that was about to burst its banks.

And then Vadderung leaned forward in his seat. “Together,” he said, and I felt my orgasm stopped in its tracks, held static and desperate inside me, shivering. Oh _fuck_.

“Come on, come on, _please_ ,” I garbled, not at Vadderung. He could have his way, as he wished, I was asking Marcone, needing him to join me so I could shatter into tiny pieces. “Mar- Marcone! Please.”

He did please. Marcone dragged me up to meet him with a bruising grip on my hips, bottoming out inside me and then let go. I think I shrieked, orgasm suddenly loosed when I wasn’t expecting it, shorting out the parts of me that objected to feeding Marcone’s ego.

I needn’t have worried. He collapsed on top of me, heavy and stupid, making inarticulate little noises of satisfaction. I panted, staring up at the straw of the roof.

“We should really do this more often,” Vadderung said thoughtfully, surveying the tangled heap of satiated mortals at his feet.

“I’m free on Wednesdays,” I groaned. Marcone tightened his grip when I tried to roll him off me, so I gave up on shifting him. I could give him a minute to get it together. Or ten. But maybe somewhere more comfortable. “Bedtime?” I asked, smiling up at Vadderung from beneath my mobster blanket.

“As you wish, Harry,” he said. “But we must have him back before the sun rises.”

“Sure,” I yawned. “S’fine.”

Vadderung worked his will one more time and we were wrapped in furs, tangled on a bed, warm and easy.

“Night,” I muttered, and let myself drift off.


End file.
